
Margery 



\ A ir. 



BV 



iARY McD. Santley 



Margery Rae. 



BY 



iMrs. Mary McD. Santley 



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"iHEL 


) A.\D ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOh 






CLEVELAND, OHIO : 








1S92. 





HP 26 1892 

/ 



'\'0 






Copyrighted 

Hv MRS. MARV MCD. SANTLEV, :N9^. 

All rights reserved. 



TO ALL THOSE WHO SUFFER, BECAUSE SOME LOVED ONE 

HAS LOOKED UPON THE WINE WHEN IT WAS 

RED IN THE CUP, THIS LITTLE VOL- 

U:ME IS AFFECTIONATELY 

dedicated. 

Mary McD. Santley. 



NTRODUCTION 



T^HIS tale was written because the Author was pos- 
sessor of the facts, which make a continuous chain 
from its beginning to its end ; and her heart burned and 
ached because of that possession, and refused to be re- 
lieved until the voice was lifted up against the wrongs 
which make such a story possible. Any one who may 
read it is asked not to note the uncouth drapery, but to 

consider what it enfolds. 

M. ^IcD. vS. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Page. 

A sentinel grim o'erlooking the green 7 

They knelt in His honse lo 

And the Jnne is here 12 

Rob's vessel had sailed 14 

® ;« ;ft ■•; ^j. ^jp j^j^g stream 16 

The wife sat alone iS 

•■■ * ■" ■•■ to entwine her crosses 20 

The cold clay tenderly gnarding 22 

That mills by the rivers 26 

This woman, who spent life's first sunny morn .... 38 

* * * ■■ now rests in its low, green tent 40 

Dark Pinks 44 

The rocks still tower high- 46 

Peace unto men 48 



"We wait beneath the furnace-blast 
The pang of transformation ; 
Not painlessly doth God recast 
And mould anew the nation." 



"Give Prayer and purse 

To stay the curse 

Whose wrong we share, 

Whose shame we bear, 

Whose end shall yiadden Heaven ! "' 



" Before the joy of peace must come 

The pains of purifying. 

God give us grace 

Each in his place 

To bear his lot, 

And, murmuring not, 

Endure and wait and labor ! " 



" but, meanwhile, pain 
Is bitter and tears are salt : our voices take 
A sober tone ; our very household songs 
Are heavy with a nation's griefs and wrongs ; 
And innocent mirth is chastened for the sake 
Of the brave hearts that never more shall beat. 
The eyes that smile no more, the unreturniug feet ! " 

— ]V/iitlier. 




A SENTINEL GRIM O ERLOOKING THE GREEN. 



Margery Rae 



The stream throngh the valley rippled and ran 
Tall daisies and o^rass and mosses amono' ; 
It rippled and ran and splashed o'er the stone, 
Throngh forest the song was sometimes a moan, 
In meadow it smiled as only stream can 
When o'er it a cover of light is flnng. 

A cottage qnaint at the foot of the hill 

With a porch and trellis and ivy screen ; 

Round the porch clung arms of the wild white rose ; 

For support, the trellis the ivy chose ; 

Near by was an old, brown, moss-covered mill, — 

A sentinel grim o'erlooking the green.— 




THl.V KNEIvT IN HIS HOUSE. 



By the riverside two children played, 

Two roguish little ones healthy and red. 

" Ha ! ha ! " laughed Margery, INIargery Rae ; 

" Ha ! ha ! " echoed Rob, " on the stream we'll play ; 

Let us sail a boat for we're not afraid ; " 

And down the wide valley the sailors fled. 

" Now, ^Margery Rae, let us make our craft,'' 
Said Robert the captain of summers eight ;— 
A slab of pine with three masts of willow, 
A o-ino-ham sail and 'twas on the billow. — 
A bonny wee boat, and our Robert laughed 
While he gave her a load of flowery freight. 

Happy dav ! these children were free from care, 
While the mother spun in the humble cot. 
While the father wrought in the old brown mill 
And to God gave thanks, with a cheerful will, 
For the blessing of health and peace most rare, 
And children and life in this quiet spot. 




AND THE JUNE IS HERE. 



On a Sabbath morn in the plainest dress, 
When the snn shone warm and the sky was clear, 
Robert Rae, his children and good wife Jean 
Went ont to the hill-tops and knelt nnseen ; 
To adore their Maker, their sins confess, 
Where only the presence of God seemed near. 

In the afternoon, when the old chnrch bell 
In the village afar rang sweetest chime. 
They knelt in " His Honse " with reverent mien, 
And their voices in song were heard between 
The sermon and prayer His praise to swell ; 
Then, refreshed, sought home in the eventime. 

The summers have fled and the June is here, 
Wild flowers bloom in the valley again ; 
Far up the stream the gray rocks tower high, 
Hid by leaves and vines and blossoms shy ; 
These moss-cushioned fronts ne'er echo a fear, 
But always are speaking of peace to men. 






R()li"S VKSSKt HAD SAir.KD. 



A budding woman, like an op'ning rose 
Suffused with the bloom of young, rich life, 
With elastic step sought the myrtle vine 
And the dark, wild pinks, for a wreath to twine — 
For in years gone by, she, bird-like chose 
To drop some seeds where they now fell rife. 

Her basket was full to the overflow, 

A whistle she heard and a youth she saw ; 

" Ha ! ha ! " laughed Margery, Margery Rae, 

" Ha ! ha ! " echoed Jamie, " to-da>''s the day : '' 

'Twas the old, sweet stor\-, and each must know, 

'Twas a charming picture as one can draw. 

Aye, their love was pure, and they wed that night, 
vShe wore with the myrtle and pinks a smile 
When she plighted her troth to James Adair; 
To love and to keep he, too, promised there ; 
To one looking on 'twas well to unite 
And parents and brother were pleased the while. 

15 




FAR UP THE STREAM. 



So Margery Rae left the home nest dear ; 
In cottage again the spinning-wheel whirred ; 
The father wrought on, but the days were long ; 
Rob's vessel had sailed, and he missed the song 
Of his blithe, brown lassie, whose bird-notes clear 
Waked echoes in valley, in choir w^ere heard. 

I would that my tale might end just here ! 

I ask, ought the bitter bloom near the sweet ? 

Ought quiet and right always jostled be 

By wrong and unrest, and by misers- ? 

Ought loving hearts tremble and break from fear ? 

In anguish I cr)', O God ! is it meet ? 

^ * ^ 5iJ ^ ;j; 

James Adair took his wife far up the stream 

To a neat little cot of purest white ; 

Pale honeysuckle crept along the eaves 

And filled the air with the scent of the leaves ; 

The near hills wore a veil of joy ; and 'twould seem 

That all things aquivered with new delight. 

17 




THE WIFP; SAT ALONE. 



They were young and strong and the\- idled not, 

But lifted the duties of life with ease. 

He was kind and brave in those early da}-s ; 

She was good to see in her winsome ways ; 

Friends said, when the}- came, " it's a charming spot, 

This home, this forest, these hills all please." 

When the rose-laden days of June once more 

Under canopy blue and a sunn>- sk}-, 

Came into the valle}' along with the birds, 

Whose songs brought to mind all the sweetest words, 

And the sheen of all times gone on before. 

When tune, and color, and warmth each vie 

The one with the other to make life glad, 

The wife sat alone in a leafy bower ; 

A daint)", wee garment edging with lace ; 

A faintest shadow lay over the face ; 

The snatches of song seemed a little sad, 

In a minor hey heard that noontide hour. 



19 




TO ENTWINK HER CROSSES. 



The chill of the autumn followed the June — 

When sun-time is short and nioht-time is lou^y — 

And alone she sat by her hearth forlorn 

i\waitin<^ a footstep and dawn of morn ; 

A desolate life ! and it came so soon, 

The agonized heart for one filled with song. 

(3 the nights grew long, and sombre the da\s, 
And travail and sorrow alone she bore ; 
Till a little child lay warm at her breast 
Which she tightly held and fondly caressed, 
And tJioitght that sweet prattle and tender ways 
In this op'ning bud were folded in store. 

The years sped by on the fleetest of wing 
And left all unasked new guests at her door ; 
To some her heart-portals flew open wide, 
And she fondly hoped they would there abide ; 
For sunshine and trust their own welcome bring. 
And she dreamed sometimes she'd be sad no more. 




THE COI.l) Cr.AV TKXDERIvV GUARDING. 



But, alas for hope, when the sparkling wine 
In influence subtle o'er will holds sway. 
Her person and home she adorned with care, 
Her heart-beats were echoes of fervent prayer 
And all for him ; so she sought to entwine 
Her crosses with garlands of love each day. 

In her arms were folded young children three, 
And a mother welcome to each she gave ; 
She looked for the rose, but she gathered the rue, 
And her heart was pierced each time anew 
Till the fetters were broken, her soul set free 
To scale the summits awaiting the brave. 

We stand by her bier: on her soft brown hair 
Where the pinks anxl myrtle of the long ago 
Lay, a mass of velvet)', rich dark hues. 
Is a paler wreath, which she did not choose ; 
And the cold clay tenderly guarding there. 
Are the dear old parents, bent b)- their woe. 

23 



We may tell you now of the hard, sad fate, 
For the heart that was crushed is still and cold : 
She'll not hear the words a rude world speaks, 
When it tells of the wrong that blanched her cheeks ; 
She heralded naught of the drunken hate, 
Her tale of sorrow ne'er stooped to unfold. 

O, the w^orld knows not, how endures a wife, 
Because she is constant and keeps her vow ; 
Under blow and curse she cherishes yet 
The one who oft hastens his pledge to forget ; 
A sacrifice costly she lays down her life — 
Long since it was true and so is it now. 



O stay, and devote one moment to thought ! 
117/(1/ one himdrcd men, for whatever sum, 
]\Iay say, that ihc ten may be given a draught 
That when to the dregs they've blindly quaffed — 
And unto your coffers the gold they've brought — 
Shall muttering imbeciles straightway become ? 

25 




THAT MII^LS BY THK RIVERS. 



O, see the thin hands, npstretched unto you ; 

The wide, hungry eyes, in upturned appeal, 

Burning into your own the unanswered pra>er, 

" O sell not the soul for the glitter and glare 

Of cold yellow gold. O could we but woo 

One smile that would say : " We hear you and feel. 

That never to us was given the right 

Our streets to pave, or our fountains to fill, 

With tears overflowing from tired eyes 

And with Children's hearts, in a tax disguise." 

No equitv gives to numbers or might 

The privilege innocent blood to spill. 

O, we know that greed is selfishly fed ; 

That mills by the rivers, with wheels that haste, 

Are rolling by day and rumbling by night, 

To distill with unceasing, cruel might 

The corn that was meant for our children's bread 

Into essence of death, disease, and waste. 

27 



Shame, shame unto him, whose hand drops the seed 
Of sin and decay into soil warm and new, 
The harvest of which his castle will bnild 
Of marble, and gems, and its halls will gild ; 
Who shares in permitting this awful deed 
Must in ratio bear the shame of it too. 

Tho' millions have asked from rum to be freed 

Have prayed and petitioned, continue to sue, 

A scroll reaching down from the sk>- to this planet, 

A list begun in the morning of time. 

Signed by the redeemed, both angels and men. 

And by the dear Christ, with his pitiful pen, 

Would yet lack a vote when lawmakers scan it. 

The senator's vote to suppress this crime. 

This loving heart ached, it bled and was sore 
When all her sorrow and trial had come. 
Would you know aught more of her children three ? 
I must tell it all ; — Ah, woe is me ! — 
They were fools ; — All three that ISIargery bore — 
A fool begat them while reeking with rum. 

29 



The eye of the Lord, both searching and mild, 
Looked over the battlements in the sky 
And saw the angnish, too great to express, 
When first to her broken heart she confessed. 
This baby of mine is a " Drunkard's CJiild^'' 
Bnt its meed of love I must ne'er deny. 

O, she yearned and gazed in the vacant eye. 
Still thinking her God might look from above 
And perhaps the smile of a dawning mind, 
If she closely searched she yet might find ; 
But alas ! alas ! none could she descry, 
While closer she pressed it in mother-love. 

E'en the Lord's own day was now not exempt ; 
That da\-, when a child she'd learned to revere 
And hail with delight each restful hour. 
She dreaded now ; for under the power 
Of the demon of rum, unwashed, unkempt, 
Her husband caused her the vSabbath to fear. 

31 



Sometimes, in the morn he wonld sa\- : " Sweet Wife, 

Let ns np and away onr God to adore ; " 

How her heart wonld leap, and her e}es wonld glow, 

When snch thonght of dnty, and her he'd show ; 

Bnt at close of the service wonld be a strife 

To enter or not the shop's wide-flnng door. 

Ah ! do yon not know that he'd not go by ; 
For what were his wife, or friend, or the da)% 
When a score of saloons, all open b)- law. 
On his right, and left and in front he saw. 
He entered these dens ofttimes with a sigh, 
For often from them he'd promised to sta}'. 

Once, after 'tending his first foolish son, 
For seven whole days he locked himself in, 
And with bolts and bars fastened all secure ; 
Determined the agony he wonld endnre. 
Til over his thirst he'd a victor)- won, 
Nor longer be held a capti\e b}- sin. 

33 



From liis brow great drops of agony flowed, 
He pressed his long nails into flesh of palm, 
He agonized long till the blood flowed free 
Then walked he abroad in his liberty ; 
The licensed shop saw, to his finger tips glowed 
In frenzy rushed in for the deathfnl balm. 

"James Adair was crnel," I hear yon say ; 

Aye, in trnth he was to himself and son, 

And to her whose hymn from a Psalm of praise 

He turned to a chant of mournful la\-s. 

The seed early sown bore harvest to-day ; 

A failure his life, his manhood undone ; 

He fought to conquer full many a day, 

But legalized-rum the victory won. 

Ah, surely 'tis best for man to do right, 
His sin falls a curse on his loved ones too. 
Three foolish children ! All the mother-pain. 
Her arms full of sorrow was all the gain ; 
On her pathway there fell not one ray of light 

35 



No star-glint of hope above in the bhie ; 
The stoniest heart might melt at the sight 
Bnt the sin-wrought work could never undo. 

In every hamlet are saintly souls, 

Who suffer and starve for love and for bread, 

Who have saddest eye and have wannest cheek 

For need of these, both, and they must not speak ; 

Must inscribe the want on the secret scrolls 

Of the inmost heart, and no murmur said. 

Ah ! the blossom of love with its fragrance sweet. 

Lies withered and crushed under rum perfume ; 

And still we supinely crouch at the feet 

Of rum-venders who our substance consume. 

" Endurance and patience," you calmly say, 
" Is becoming all freemen heroic." 
Your sires fought bravely the cause of the slave ; 
They're free at the price of many a grave ; 
Must blood be shed in this cause of to-day ? 
You can say Politician and Stoic. 

37 




THIS \v().^^A^•, who spent like s imkst st'xnv morn. 



]\Iiist a dead lamb be in your houses all 

Howsoever )our flock nia\- be tended ? 

]\Iust there ever be sent to early graves, 

Faithful wives and mothers, who're more than slaves ? 

If so, 'twere a fact the strong to appall : 

From such woe mav we all be defended. 



This woman, who spent life's first sunn\- morn 

In a quiet \'ale by the mill and stream, 

Enjoying the birds and the falling showers, 

The nights full of stars and sweet breath of flowers, 

Had within her a spirit in Heaven born 

Inspiring her courage and guiding her will. 

But sorrow long pent will sometimes overflow, — 
Clouds when o'er-fuU spill the dashes of rain. 
And we and the da^dight are blinded with tears, — 
So, her heart deprived of all that endears, 
Companionship loving forced to forego 

39 




>Hi- 



NOW RESTS IN ITS LOW, GREEN TENT 



At intervals long found resistance vain. 

And one time in the hnsh of night when alone, — 

A tired child, in a wide silent land, — 

She burst into tears, when her lord returned ; 

His rum-kindled passions within him burned, 

When he saw her tremble and heard her moan. 

And he dealt, with his angry, strong right hand, 

On her temple a sudden and fatal blow. 

Sending Margery Rae to an early grave. 

Her body now rests in its low, green tent ; 

The three feeble little ones soon were sent 

To the home our Rulers are pleased to bestow 

On such children, born of rum-loving slave. 

When his patient wife lay prone on the floor 
James Adair looked down on the tear stained face 
And no longer was mad : O, never a word, 
Though sharp as e\er was edged like a sword. 
Could have pierced his heart to the very core. 
As the lips that were mute in that silent place. 

41 



" O return ! " he exclaimed, " I repent ! I repent ! " 
Bnt not one sonnd through that silence was sent ; 
Her voice, her footstep \vould come never more 
To greet his return, with music and grace. 

When into his mind surged thoughts of the past, 

And all that the future would bring unto him, 

A gulf of despair yawned wide at his feet 

His soul to entomb in torment complete ; 

He muttered and moaned ; daylight came at last ; 

The storv he told ; to eternity ])assed. 

And the strong young man of the days of yore, 
By the side of wife under folds of green 
Now sleeps. They were killed by legalized rum. 
Ere their days had told out half of their sum ; 
And the world rolls on with its deafening roar 
Made the clashing of greed and self between. 

Ah ! well might the winds a requiem sigh, 

In pleading the trees stretch forth their long arms, 

43 




DARK PINKS. 



The face of the sun be darkened by cloud, 

The bhie arch above in gloom to enshroud ; 

For man, in whose soul Jehovah on high 

The breath of life breathed, yields all to sin's charm. 

The stream through the valle\' ripples and runs 
Tall daisies and fern and mosses among ; 
It ripples and runs and splashes o'er stone, 
Through forest the song is sometimes a moan ; 
In mead it smiles where it's kissed b\- the sun 
And o'er it no shadow of cloud is flung. 

Robert Rae now stoops and is white and old, 
And his good wife Jean murmurs low and sad, 
" The just God will come with a flaming sword 
And cut down sin as we know by His word." 
And, because he is right, her son strong and bold 
Will battle to make the sorrowful glad. 

Dark pinks and the myrtle bloom near the bed 
Where Margery sleeps till the Trump shall sound, 

45 



x^iid the mighty Angel, " One foot on land 

The other on sea," majestic, shall stand 

And declare that this grave mnst give np its dead ; 

With saints and the glorified Lord she'll be found. 

So the years shall come 'til this day appear ; 
Wild flowers shall bloom again and again ; 
Far up the stream the rocks still tower high 
Hid by leaves and vines and blossoms shy ; 
The moss-cushioned fronts ne'er echo a fear, 
But always be speaking of '' Peace unto men." 

Yes, " Peace unto men," for the gath'ring throngs 
Are coming from near, are coming from far ; 
A forerunner cries, " The sound of the feet 
In onrolling wa\es, with hope, comes to greet 
The ear of the weary, and victory's songs 
In chorus shall sound from star imto star." 

The brave falter not, but turn to the breeze 

The bosom, through wrong left bleeding and bare ; 

47 




PEACE UNTO MEN. 



O, citizen ! of these how inan\- must die 
Ere the shield of defense your hand lifts on high ? 
God help those who falter ; strengthen weak knees 
Teach all to use weapons of action and prayer. 

While through the long night it flows 'til the morn, 
Sweet Margery Rae, thy blood yields perfume ! 
The Lord holds him guilty who turns a deaf ear 
And walks coldly by, nor heeds the hot tear 
Of the bruised and crushed, the sad and forlorn, 
Whose wails are not silenced, because in the tomb. 

Wellington, Ohio, 
March, 1889. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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